


Bitten

by flannelcastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Funny, Human Castiel, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Season/Series 09, Shipper!Sam, Where the fuck is Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelcastiel/pseuds/flannelcastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After working a case in the desert, Dean and Castiel find themselves alone on an old highway waiting for Sam to pick them up. Dean gets bitten by a rattlesnake and Castiel declares he must suck out the venom. Shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitten

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this post](http://zatnikatel.tumblr.com/post/55797983657/there-is-a-distinct-shortage-of-fic-in-which-dean) in the deancas tag:
> 
>  
> 
> _"… fic in which Dean gets bitten on the inner thigh by a poisonous spider or snake, and Cas has to suck out the poison."_

 "Where the freaking hell is Sam!"

This is why Dean doesn’t like relying on people for rides. Even his brother, the one who he shares an extraordinarily and sickeningly  _deep_ bond with, can’t even pick Dean up at the time he says. Yeah, it’s not the big of a deal when he and Cas are posing as phony Homeland Security agents and have to wait in a nicely air conditioned lobby while they await the tell-tale sound of his Baby’s engine. But their most recent case brought them out into the middle of Arizona—more specially, So Fucking Hot You Can Barely Breathe, Arizona.

So Sam being late while he and Cas go slow-roasted? Bull fucking shit.

"I am sure he is on his way," Cas murmurs. He is pretty damn faithful to Sam. Probably because Sam and his girly sensibility had a little more faith in Cas recently. But… Dean got over his bitterness. For the most part. Cas is human now and actually pretty good at it. He actually—and Dean would  _never_ admit this out loud—makes a pretty good Hunter. He’s knowledgable enough. And being human now gives him more of a leg-up than being a winged dick…not that he was a  _dick._ Most of the time, anyways,

"Don’t defend him," Dean says shortly. “Not now. Being pissed is the only thing keeping me from being miserable."

"As you wish."

After about an hour, Dean gives up on standing around. The highway is flat and endless, so he’ll probably see Sam way before he even gets there. He tugs off his sports jacket and throws it down on a rock that’s nestled in a ditch, and then lays down. God, the heat makes him tired—he can close his eyes and feel his skin becoming raw from the sun’s glazing heat. Dean hears rustling in the dirt, and he’s pretty sure it’s Cas sitting next adjacent to his newly formed rock bed.

Even with his eyes closed, the light sears through his lids and Dean drapes a forearm over his eyes. He takes a quick peak at Cas, who is sweaty and uncomfortable looking.

"Just take off your shirt, man," Dean mumbles. He sits up and proceeds to do just that, take off his own shirt. The sweat has already yellowed the pits and, in this heat, it will be caking on soon enough and Dean doesn’t really feel like smelling  _rank._

Cas’s eyes widen and then shift away, and if his face wasn’t already a rosy red Dean would have thought he was blushing. And for some reason that made Dean uncharacteristically shy and he looks away too. “I hate my brother."

"Me too," Cas agrees, giving up on his optimism, and he’s taking off his shirt now, too. Dean has eyes and there are only so many places he can look without so  _obviously_ trying  _not_  to look at Cas. So he just opts to look at Cas. He’s trim and tan, which is weird because he spent all those years trapped under like, three freaking layers of clothes and a trenchcoat. He runs outside the bunker sometimes, but Dean never thought about him running around shirtless.

And shit, Dean should  _never_ think about Cas running around shirtless. Like, never again. He coughs and looks away.

“ _Dean,_ " Cas says, and it’s drawn out and low and deep, and Dean thinks he’s about to be reprimanded for checking his friend out. But he wasn’t. Can’t he admire a body innocently (well, he might have a growing hard-on…but Cas doesn’t need to know that). Dean looks to Castiel, whose eyes are wide and frozen and looking between Dean’s spread legs.

"Cas," he breathes, shaking his head. “I—I can explain—you see, the male body—"

"Shut up and don’t move," Cas furiously whispers. Dean freezes, a demand for an explanation hanging on his lips before he hears the rattle. And he doesn’t really have time to do shit before there are two sharp things digging into his thigh.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" Dean curses and slams his palm into—into the  _snake_ that’s suddenly sinking it’s teeth straight through the flimsy fabric of his dress pants— _fuck_ casual wear!—and straight into his skin. And it stings, it  _burns._

Gun shots ring in his ears and the next thing he knows there’s a lump of scaly flesh on the ground and a smoking 9mm in his hands. He laughs, hysterical almost, as he looks to Cas. “Little son of a bitch almost got the goods!"

Cas is looking at the snake, his stare intent and then he’s frowning. “Dean, take off your pants."

He was just tucking his pistol back in its holster when the words entered his ears. “Excuse me?"

Cas stands up, eyes narrowed and hooded and Dean can almost hear  _I’m and Angel of the Lord_ echoing in his most distant memories. It’s  _that_ kind of stare.

"Not for nothing, but I don’t drop my panties on the first date," Dean laughs half-heartedly, because this  _cannot_ be happening.

"I have determined that the snake is a  _Crotalinae,_ a subfamily of venomous snakes found in North America. A rattlesnake."

"You’ve got to be  _kidding_ me," Dean mumbles and turns his face toward the sky. “Really?  _Really?_ ”

Cas ignores his cursing at the heavens. No one is up there but fucking Metatron anyways. “We must get away from here. I think that bellow this rock is the snake’s nest. You must have disturbed it."

Dean curses and mutters about his luck, how much he hates Sam, before Cas requests he takes off his pants again. This time he asks why.

"I have to suck out the venom," Castiel explains evenly.

"You gotta  _what_?" He touches the inside of his thigh, which is painful to the touch. He’s been stabbed and maimed and all kinds of shit but—it’s the venom that’s hurting him.

"Take off your pants and lay down."

Dean narrows his eyes, questions this because—if Cas is gonna suck the venom out  _there…_ that would require his—his  _lips_ there. Right there. About two inches from his little buddy. How the hell is he going to keep himself from popping a boner and then  _hide_ it?

Really, he should have greater concerns. Such as dying at the dirty nasty hand of rattlesnake venom—of  _all_ the things that could get him, this would be it—but he doesn’t want Cas’s lips on him.

Nevertheless, he’s undoing his belt and pushing his pants to the ground. He uses his jacket again to lay over the dirt, and does what Cas said. Lay down. He forces himself to relax as he spreads his legs a little. He lifts his neck, peering down his chest to see Cas settling between his legs, and then clutching his thigh with both hands.

"Make it quick," Dean croaks and lays his head back. Maybe it will help if he doesn’t watch.

It doesn’t help.

Cas touches the bite with his fingers—they are calloused, Dean wouldn’t have guessed them to be so rough like his—and then drops his mouth to his thigh unceremoniously. He spreads his lips wide and open, enveloping the circumference of the bite and sucking at the skin. Dean didn’t think he could get any hotter, but suddenly his skin is literally on fire—and not because of the venom but because his freaking hormones are making him ultimately confused and he’s  _so_ inappropriately horny—

He takes his mouth away and Dean stifles a whimper from the absence of the warm, succulent heat. He looks up, breathing heavy, to see that Cas has turned his head to spit out the venom furiously. Dean is still looking at him when Cas turns his head back around, and catches Dean’s eyes. He slowly drops his mouth again, their mutual staring never disconnecting, until Cas begins to suck again and he closes his eyes. Dean shudders at the sight but, this time, he can’t really even begin to look away. He’s probably sporting a rather embarrassing erection at this point but—come on—he’s a dude. A dude with a mouth sucking on his thigh. His body doesn’t know the difference between a hickey-inducing sensation and a life-saving sensation. Even though Cas is probably doing both.

Dean ruts just a little and hisses when he feels a vibration around Cas’s lips. And he hears something too. Was that a fucking  _moan_? _  
_

"Ca—-Cas?" Dean manages, and he’s breaking his mouth away again to spit out the venom. Dean tries to pull his leg away while Cas is momentarily detached, because there is no turning back from this—whatever this is. Before his eyes flash years of friendship, year of stolen glances and accidental hard-ons and _hours_ spent under a stream of hot water trying to get his best friend  _out_ of his spank bank. This was not helping that silent struggle. Dean doesn’t have that kind of self-control.

Once Cas is finishing spitting, he grabs Dean’s ankle roughly, shoving his leg back flush to the ground. His eyes are dark, midnight blue and Dean can see it again— _I deserve some respect—_ except the tenor of his voice is more  _wrecked_ than Dean’s heard it in a while.

"I am not finished."

Dean’s eyes widen. “Oh…okay."

Castiel has these lips. They are plump and full and cracked most of the time, except when he licks them thoroughly. And that’s what he does—draws his tongue across his upper, and then lower lip as his eyes drop down between Dean’s legs. Yeah, he’s getting an eyeful of Dean’s erection pressing through the cotton of his boxers. And then his lips are covering the bite again, but…he’s not really sucking anymore.

 _Holy shit_ , Cas is kissing him…kissing his thigh.

Between his shocked gasp and Cas’s satisfied murmuring against his skin, Dean’s got his fingers in Cas’s hair. He falls back and just keeps kneading Cas’s scalp, lifting his hips into Cas’s touch. “Cas…" How many times has he imagined this? Well, zero, if you included the boiling alive in the desert and then getting a snake bite part. He’s always wanted Cas in a way that he thought he could never have him, never really thought he  _deserved_ to have him. Even when Cas was betraying him, leaving him,  _hurting_ him, he wanted this. Because he’s always needed Cas.

"I know," Castiel murmurs into his skin. “Me too…"

And just like that his worries are doused.

Cas’s lips shift up a little, and his mouth ghosts over the fabric of his boxers, past the waistband, until he’s kissing Dean’s hip bone. He jerks and tosses, the sensations so simple but overwhelming him at an embarrassing speed, and then moans when Cas presses diligent fingers to his throbbing hard-on. Less of a moan, more like a pathetic little girly whine.

Little time to be embarrassed when Cas is experimentally palms against it, scraping the fabric as he goes which is effectively  _ruining_ Dean Winchester. Not to mention he’s pretty sure Cas is licking him now, not just kissing. He gyrates his hips, because he’s coming undone faster than he has since he was like, seventeen, and Cas isn’t even slowing down. He’s pushing Dean, ushering him toward the edge of oblivion with a ruthlessness that’s way to tender to even be possible.

"I—I’m—" Dean gasps out

Cas pulls on his length through the fabric, just the right amount of  _rough_ and Dean comes with a burning white force that makes his toes curl and his fingers tighten in Cas’s short dark hair. He licks across Dean’s stomach, brushing his lips all ghost-like as Dean falls and rises from the brief moment of ecstasy.

"Wow," Dean says, panting when Cas pulls away quietly. He feels all weak-limbed and a little high, but he manages to sit up and find his pants, and pulls them on quickly. Cas sits idly directly in front of him, looking at his hands. One of them is wet with— _oh._ "Sorry I—I guess your hand got the money shot," he laughs. He grabs his discarded shirt and Cas’s wrists, wiping his fingers clean. Those fingers—those fingers just got him off. Surreal.

"I…" Cas murmurs. “I do not know what came over me."

"Lust?" Dean tries with a laugh.

"Obviously." He shakes his head. “One moment I was fearful for your life, and the next I’m stroking you to completion—"

"Not a sexy way to put it," Dean points out. He’s…not the most intimate guy in the world. But Cas is really his best friend, and obviously more than that. Dean doesn’t believe in friends with benefits. The gushy part of him that cries over Sam is the same part that tells him that Cas has never been 100% his buddy. First, he was a savior, then a rival, then the guy who freaking rebelled against heaven— _I rebelled for you!—_ and now he was a simple human.

A human whose hand Dean can’t really convince himself to  _not_ to take.

"Of all the times I’ve been in mortal danger, it’s a snakebite that actually leads to an  _actual_ heart-to-heart," Dean laughs.

Cas eyes widen slightly, attentive as they watch Dean. “Are we having a heart-to-heart, Dean?"

"Shit, not in this heat," Dean groans. Then he hears it—the distant rumble of an engine. He turns his body to see that swish of dark paint against the asphalt. “My car!" he exclaims and bounces to his feet, clamoring to make sure his pants are buckled all the way. Cas remains quiet next to him. “Relax—we’re gonna talk. When we get back to the hotel, I’ll book an—an extra room. For us."

"We are not going to the hotel," Castiel says firmly. “You’re going to the hospital."

"Oh," Dean laughs hysterically. “Oh  _no_ , I’m not."

The Impala has rolled to a stop right next to them. Sam rolls down the window and begins to apologize for being late—some bull about a boarder security checkpoint being convinced he was Canadian—but Dean ignores it and stabs a finger in Sam’s face. “Thanks to you I got bit by a fucking snake—a  _rattlesnake._  About three inches from the Royal Jewels!"

Sam’s eyes widen. “Rattlesnake? Dude those are poisonous!"

"No shit Sherlock!" Dean climbs into the passenger’s seat, Cas getting in the back. “Luckily Cas got the venom out, but he’s saying that it could still be in my blood stream and I need some kind of antivenom."

"You got bit between the legs?" Sam asks as he stares cross the road. “Then how’d you get the venom out Cas?"

Dean freezes, eyes flashing to the rearview mirror. Cas’s eyes are equally wide, looking into his lap.

"…Very carefully," he murmurs.

Sam is quiet for a long time, occasionally glancing to Dean. Which was bad because Dean’s pokerface is currently malfunctioning. Eventually, Sam’s lips spread into a knowing smile and he slams his fist into the steering wheel. " _Knew it._ _”_


End file.
